The Halls of the Damned
by NegaHeliX
Summary: Jim Brooks was a janitor employed by the UAC to work in the Phobos Labs. After receiving a call from his younger brother about the death of their mother, Jim decides to volunteer as a test subject in one of the research programs to help pay funeral costs. He awakens to find he has been subjected to genetic alteration, and what's worse - everyone around him is dead. Can he escape?
1. Chapter 1

First and foremost, I would like to thank any and all who come and read this. It is my first posting on FFN.

A quick word for all the purists out there: I know that this is a departure from the way everything is told in the Doom series, especially in respect to the locations, and certain design concepts. I love all of the Doom games, and I have decided to take some liberties, specifically taking everything I liked from all the games and throwing them in a mix while removing the elements with which I didn't agree. I'm done rambling now, so enjoy and don't be afraid to criticize the work. (Just keep it constructive)

1.

All throughout the installation, silence. There were no noises to indicate what once was here on Phobos. Bodies littered the floors of every sector, both human and alien. It had been a bloodbath ever since the invasion started. UAC scientists, marines, and of course, the demonic invaders - their corpses lay dormant in the halls and corridors of this once bustling research facility.

Phobos Lab had been home to the UAC's top scientific breakthroughs. On the moons of Mars and the planet itself, they had none of the moral restrictions of Earth's laws. Weapons testing, teleportation of living creatures, and even human experiments were commonplace. So, it was of no surprise that in one particular corner of the labs, I awakened groggily inside a tube. As my eyes opened, the stasis fluid drained below my feet. I was lowered with it and brought to rest in a mock-fetal position. I blinked slowly, my vision blurred, and beyond the glass I could see carnage. Scientists, maintenance personnel - laying on the floor in their vital fluids. Equipment damaged beyond repair. It had quickly become apparent that the fact that I still lived was a miracle. Even more miraculous, the stasis chamber's automated systems still functioned, as the tub raised and allowed me to sit up and step down to the floor, hesitantly.

One of the workers lay slumped over an instrument panel just beside the stasis chambers. His lab coat was in tatters and stained with blood, weeks old. the stench of death and decay assaulted my olfactory sense, and I will begrudgingly admit, I got sick. Normally, it would be my job to clean such a mess, but given the current state of my surroundings, I saw little need. Memories flooded back to my mind as I stood straight for the first time in how long? That was one thing I could not perceive. How long had I been in that tube?

My name? It came back to me slowly - J - Jim... Brooks. Custodian at Phobos Labs. My job... if you have to ask, then maybe you should be considering reading a dictionary. I, along with four others, was charged with the ever so daunting task of keeping the Labs clean and tidy. The pay was... well, it was pay, though not nearly enough to be able to afford a funeral.

I remembered a call coming from Earth. My brother had contacted me and was in tears. The video feed showed him in the hospital, our mother just behind him. She'd passed away peacefully in her sleep. The question of how we would afford the costs of burying her pervaded, and as always I reassured him that I would think of something. So, as any loving son would do in my situation, I found the best opportunity to make some extra credits. There were posters all over the facility about volunteering for research at the labs, as well as many other side jobs. Some even offered to help the janitorial crew. Since I was already doing that, it was blatantly obvious they probably weren't going to give me _more_ hours behind a floor buffer. So volunteer for the research program, I did.

Myself and three others from different departments around Phobos base arrived. One of them - Phillip, I think his was his name - was, silently saying a prayer. Something about not being placed into a teleporter. I didn't pay him much mind. I assumed we were going to go planet side to collect rock samples from the site where they'd found the Gates. I'd seen them - rather, pictures of them. No one without clearance was allowed anywhere near the Gates. I highly doubted we'd be going there, and for once my gut-feeling was correct. The four of us had been ushered by Security and a couple of coats to the newest wing of the labs. We stood anxiously outside a door with a sign over it that read "Genetics Department" as one of the coats produced a key card. The door sprang up as the blue card was swiped and inside were marvels I'd only heard about in comic books. We were instructed to keep our mouths shut about this wing and we weren't allowed to ask questions. I was alright with that - I didn't get along with a lot of the Lab workers. They were rude to those of us in the janitorial department - worse than they were with the maintenance guys. I suppose from their point of view, we were just rejects - too poor to afford college educations or something like that. I was an exception. I'd gone to college and graduated at the top of my class, though my focus was in entertainment software development. Little did I know, the competition to get a job with a studio was fierce. I decided to just find any job and the UAC was happy to pick up my application, put it on the floor, dance around it a few times and then say, "HE'S A JANITOR!" Could've been worse, I suppose. Hell, I could be in the military. I could be...

The present came roaring back to me. I'd meandered to the door and begun to peer out of the window. I saw more of the same out there - death. There was a marine propped against the wall opposite the door. His innards had been strewn up and down the hallway, and an eternal scream was frozen on his face. _I could be _that_ guy..._ I turned away, feeling nauseous again but I didn't get sick this time. I hadn't eaten anything in over a month. I felt heavier than before I volunteered for the experiment. Felt like my equilibrium, or maybe something else was out of whack. I knew one thing; if it hadn't been for the weeks without food, the sights in my immediate area would have completely killed my appetite. My stomach roared up my esophagus and reminded me that it needed sustenance.

I walked slowly between the counters and desktops in the genetics room until I found one of those blue keycards lying next to one of the dead coats. I bent down to pick it up and immediately caught something different. My hand... I looked it over, then the other, and further up my forearms. I gave myself a thorough inspection and noticed the change. I'd gotten bigger. Much bigger. My skin had sort of a red tint to it. I touched my neck and face, and much to my surprise I had really filled out. It was like I'd been going to the gym every day for the past few months!

Suddenly, the rest of my senses came back to me, full-bore and pain wracked my body. I felt hot and I began to sweat. My eyes burned and for a moment all I could see was red. Voices rang through my head. Too many at once to be able to make sense of anything. The words spoken soon turned to deafening screams. I wanted nothing more than to destroy everything, so I did. I reached out to the nearest counter and pulled my seething body off its knees. The countertop crumbled in my grasp as I stood, and I swung my left arm down, bellowing like a madman and crashed a clenched fist right through the thick, smooth surface as if it were cardboard. In my mind, horror erupted. I could actually watch myself behaving this way but could do nothing to stop it. My rampage continued, and by the time I was done I'd demolished everything in a ten foot radius. Slowly, the rage subsided and all I had left were legs that could barely support my weight, and arms that hung heavily at my sides. _I have to get out of here._

That's one chapter down. I know, it's starting off a bit slow but bear with me. It will get better. Thoughts, comments, and criticism are all welcome. I only ask that you keep the criticism constructive. Thanks again for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Here I go, firing off part two of "The Halls of the Damned." For those of you who are curious about the title, I did indeed use the name of Doom's E2M6. It is my favorite map of the episode. Try playing it on Ultra-Violence starting with nothing but a pistol and see how many times you have to restart. Proud to say - I can do it with 100% completion. Enough Rambling though. ONWARD!

2.

The corridors of Phobos Labs were different to me now. As I trudged through the bodies of the dead, I began remembering walking through this section of the facility. The floors, walls, and ceilings were all a dull light-grey. I would think of how boring it all looked. Now, I missed it. The floors had darkened and the tiles changed. They were almost black - just like the walls. I seemed as though the ceiling was so high up that you couldn't see it anymore in some places, though the absence of light in most of the areas contributed to that effect. This feeling of a lingering evil crept up my spine and took hold at my neck, putting me on my guard and had me seeing things that danced just beyond the threshold of the shadows. As I rounded a corner, a lonely mirror stared back at me. I nearly jumped out of my skin seeing another figure before me, but I crossed the room to get a better look at what had happened to me while I was out.

_Holy shit, I need some clothes... _I noticed, somehow for the first time that the only thing I was wearing was the "stasis-skivvies," as the lab boys liked to call them. As luck would have it I found one of the biggest marines I'd ever seen bent backwards over a partition. _Poor bastard,_ I thought as I hefted his body to the floor. It appeared that other than his back being folded the wrong way, he hadn't suffered any other injuries. I had no qualms disrobing him. Ever since my episode in the genetics chamber, I couldn't help but feel this new sensation within me. It was like one moment my senses were heightened to the extreme, and the next it was just plain, old me - confused and weak with hunger. I put on the combat uniform and it fit snugly over my features. The marine's boots were slightly too big, but I was a bum among the heaps, so I put them on anyway. I stood up, ready for inspection. As I neared my reflection, I couldn't help but gasp in surprise. Not at my larger form, but at my face - namely my eyes. The whites had blackened to match my pupils, and my irises were red. Blood red, with an intensity I'd never seen in any other human.

I used to be average-looking. Just less than six feet tall, average brown hair with an unremarkable face adorned with a well-kept goatee. I was thin and pale, with a ponderous walk and hands that were slightly too big. Not a clumsy build, but pretty nerdy. Not that I had a problem with it, but in all of my twenty-eight years no one had ever called me "handsome" aside from my mother. My brother was the athletic one. He was huge - built like a brick shithouse with a two-car garage. The ladies hung on him. He was a marine and damn proud of it. I was proud of him. Now, as I looked my new self over, the thought crossed my mind that I was the big brother again. I wondered what John was doing and hoped with all my might that he didn't get sent here to this hellhole with those other marines. They were torn apart like ragdolls that had been found by the family dog, and I'd have hated to find his body among the dead here.

I wasn't far from the staff lounge. Just a few more turns down the corridors, past the weapons research and development labs, and through the double-doors. My mouth salivated at the thought of food. No amount of destruction or time would have spoiled some of the items that were stocked in the pantry. I only hoped that none of those monsters craved packaged foods, though my better judgment reminded me of the partially eaten bodies that lay with the rest in the halls. Once I rounded the last corner I began hearing faint sounds of a biological nature. It seemed impossible to me that anyone or anything still lived, so I dismissed it as my imagination playing tricks. As I neared the doors, the sound grew loud enough that I could hear words. _Has to be one of the demo videos that drone on and on in the lounge,_ I thought aloud; but it stopped as soon as I finished the sentence. The dull, grey doors were slightly open and there was light beyond their threshold. Actual, honest to goodness light! It was only after I began pushing the doors inward that I thought to myself that this may not be a good thing. Apprehensively, I pressed forward as silently as I could, only opening the doors to the staff lounge wide enough to permit me entry.

The overhead flourescents were on, casting their white light on the tiled floor of the lounge. They flickered now and again and for those split seconds of darkness, I thought I could see movement. I cautiously stepped forward past the demolished benches just inside the door, listening for any sounds that might indicate a lack of privacy here. After nearly five minutes taking one step at a time, heart racing, I decided to relax and find the packaged snacks that the cupboards almost definitely held captive. My search began as I stepped around the counter segregating the kitchen area from the rest of the lounge. My stomach growled and contracted more and more with every cabinet door I opened, until finally - jackpot. The mother lode of junk food lay tightly and neatly packed into this cupboard. I reached out with the intent of devouring as much as I could handle. There were boxes of snack cakes, freeze-dried fruits, and even food paste tubes that were said to have vitamins and nutrients galore. I tore into the stuff, completely forgetting about where I was.

After a meal of snacks and the surprisingly good-tasting food paste, I felt great. I'd almost finished throwing away the empty packages when the sound of shuffling feet broke the silence within the lounge. I turned quickly and squinted my eyes. There was an area where just over a dozen tables sat unoccupied just beyond the kitchen. The lights were not functioning on that side of the room, so I scanned the darkness for the source of the sound. Soon enough, my eyes were greeted by a nauseating sight. He stood about my height. What was left of his hair was matted down by dried blood. The whole left side of his face seemed to have been torn off to reveal muscle tissue and bone and the remnants of his eye were smashed against his cheek. He'd been a marine before and his uniform was one of the worst I'd seen yet. The shambling corpse's remaining eye was a white orb and it wasn't even apparent how he could even see me, but he turned to move around the counter. At first, all I could do was watch in horror. I'd never believed in any of this crap - zombies, demons, monsters... and now here it was, hungrily shuffling toward me with a mouth full of rotted teeth and jerking limbs. I finally shook the paralysis locking me down and began searching frantically for something I could use as a weapon. The zombie stepped the first gnarled foot into the kitchen area just I fished the biggest damned carving knife I'd ever seen from one of the drawers. I reverse-gripped it and stood ready. The big, clumsy corpse closed the distance and lunged at me, emitting a half growl. Big mistake on his part. I showed him the error of his ways by jamming the blade into his temple and the corpse fell to the floor noisily. It twitched a few times before completely seizing up and I stepped over the bastard. It then occurred to me that arming myself was my next priority.

Just outside the staff lounge, across the hall, was a janitor closet. The door was unlocked and I stepped inside to find the damned thing untouched. _Figures..._ Muttered the little voice in the back of my head. My gut still reeled from having to dispatch a member of the living dead, but it didn't stop me from being utterly annoyed at the prospect that these flesh-eating fiends may still be wandering the halls of Phobos base. I hadn't completely dismissed the possibility, but having to deal with it was something I didn't look forward to. I wasn't a violent person in the past, but if this shit kept up, I knew I'd be stripping the dead of their firearms before long. For now, a sturdy mop-handle would have to do. It was the longest, most durable object I could find in the closet. If I'd had eye protection and some kind of protective clothing I would have considered mixing some of the cleaning agents into corrosives and unleashing chemical warfare on the next shambling bastard that got within throwing distance. I gripped the mop handle near one end and brought the other end to rest on my shoulder then prepared for the long walk to the communications tower. If the equipment was still functional and I could figure out how to use it, I'd be able to contact someone and find a way off this god-forsaken rock.

So far, I've allowed one of my friends to read this and I must say I agree; It's not bad. I'll keep writing, so long as I've got someone telling me that it's worth a read. As stated before, don't hesitate to let me know what you think. Next chapter coming soon!


	3. Chapter 3

So things are moving more quickly than I'd expected. I've had more time to write than I had initially thought, so I've decided from this chapter on I will be putting more into the chapters. It seems like they're over too quickly, and I have quite a story to tell. I hope everyone is enjoying it so far. Here it is, the third chapter of The Halls of the Damned.

3.

I'd gone back to the pantry in the staff lounge and loaded the cargo pockets of my pants with more snacks, as well as bottled water from the cooler to sustain me as I traversed the base. I had a few more sections to cross, and it was becoming more obvious to me that I was going to have to prepare for encounters with opposition. I'd been getting ever closer to the elevator that would take me to Central Processing, and when I finally got there I found another damned zombie. It had been one of the lab technicians, probably from the ballistics R&D department. They were the ones who had invented the micro-rockets and the handheld launcher that fired them. Her lab coat was stained with an assortment of unfathomable substances as well as covered in dried body fluids. She reeked of death so much that I could smell her clothing before I'd even entered the room. Her hair was still tied back, but not surprisingly unkempt. It's not as if the living dead were going to care about winning any beauty contests. I tiptoed quietly into the elevator room, where she was sitting on her knees awkwardly, hovering over another corpse. I couldn't tell if she was playing with this guy's inner workings or eating him, but in any case she was in my way. The more I stood there staring, the angrier I got about the whole situation, so I threw caution to the wind and took a leap at her. I brought the mop-handle down hard on the back of her head and a sickening crunch sounded. The stick left a trench in the back of zombie-girl's skull, but I'd already broken the damned thing. So much for sturdy, I guess. The bitch wasn't done though. I'd severely impaired her ability to function to the capacity of standing, but it didn't stop her from rolling onto her back and brandishing a submachine gun - a nice one at that. It was definitely a classic, Knights Armament Company PDW, though this one didn't have the famous tactical stock. Both my father and my brother were gun nuts even before Johnny joined the Marines. They'd gotten me to go to the firing range with them a few times, but it wasn't until the fourth or fifth time that I actually took up my Dad's AR-38 and fired it. As I'd said before, I was never a particularly violent person, but firing guns at targets was different. I fell in love with that gun and emptied three whole clips of the 5.56 ammunition my dad had brought before he'd decided to call it a day.

The trip down memory lane nearly cost me. Zombie girl had cocked the hammer and belched a poorly aimed burst at me. One of the rounds grazed my shoulder and I was pissed. I took what was left of my mop handle and threw it like a mighty gladiator would throw a spear, catching her in the forehead and finishing what the first hit couldn't. The wooden handle stuck out like a unicorn horn in her head and she groaned in defeat and squeezed off a volley at the ceiling before slumping to the floor. I took another look at her SMG and decided it was mine. She'd even had a spare clip in her lab coat! _One more for the good guys..._ both myself and the little voice in the back of my head did a silent cheer as I boarded the lift and pressed the key that would take me above ground to Central Processing.

When the lift stopped, the lights inside it flickered and died out. The doors only opened a few inches, but it was enough to take a quick scan of the hallway just outside. The only lights functioning were the ones that rested where the walls met the floor, each set spaced about two feet from the next. Fortunately the PDW had a tactical light on it, so I flipped it on and let it pierce through the dark hallway ahead. Other than smeared blood on the walls and dim light, nothing looked particularly foreboding about it so I let the gun hang and pulled at the doors until I got them wide enough open to squirm through. As I was doing this, I made sure not to make any unnecessary sound. Couldn't have the corpse committee alerted to my presence when I hadn't even gotten into the entryway. The smell of this place was like spoiled citrus and as I moved further down the corridor it only worsened. Apparently not many of the Marines had gone through here, and if they had they'd managed to ghost the welcome wagon, which consisted of four more zombies and one of the bigger, brown uglies I'd seen so many of laying in pools of their own blood. The brownie spotted me first and unleashed a hiss that alerted his comrades. It stood just over six feet tall, hairless, and had horns that jutted out of its chest, shoulders, arms and knees. I'm all about watching my enemy's movements, but another one of the undead bastards was armed and the creature seemed to have a trick up its sleeve. Its right hand began glowing for half a second then it threw some sort of fire-wad at me. They were fast approaching and I'd seriously considered relieving myself of some fluids. Instead, my fear turned to anger very quickly. _There's no damned way! I'm not going out like this!_ I could feel rage surging within me and it wouldn't stop. Another berserker episode was clawing its way up my chest. I didn't want it, but what choice did I have? I failed miserably at controlling it the first time, but this time, when it took over it felt slightly different. Instead of having an out of body experience, I concentrated and took control, though it was extremely difficult. As this was all happening it felt as if time had slowed, yet my brain was still functioning at a normal pace, so I balled a fist and threw it into the jaw of the first zombie that rounded the corner. The whole left side of its face turned to hamburger in one hit and it received such a jolt from my punch that it sprawled and went sliding into a wall, where its head cracked open and its lights went out. The next two rounded the bend with the brown bastard in tow, who had charged another one of those projectiles and slung it around the corner at me. I saw it coming and it missed by a mile. I dodged under it and went into a roll, PDW at ready. I raised it and squeezed the trigger, firing a volley into both of the zombies' heads, then leapt up with an uppercut that would have flattened a professional fighter. The punch connected with the monster's chin and while its legs kept going, the upper half of its body was stopped cold. The brownie landed on its back, reeling and madder than hell. I didn't let it up. I leveled the SMG at its forehead and squeezed, making a hell of a mess. Zombie number four was another marine. He was toting a state of the art assault rifle I'd only seen in a few movies. Apparently not all of a person's faculties die when they become undead, as it had sought cover from which it could take pot shots at me. I still saw red and like an idiot, I charged him. Somehow he wasn't firing though. It took me a moment to realize that he was reloading, though quite a bit slower than he probably had in the living. I heard him jam the clip home but before he could squeeze the trigger I dove over the crate he used as cover and tackled him, knocking the AR free to skid across the deck. He got up and tried to engage me but I'd rolled to my feet, which I used to kick him in his melon. The hit knocked him down and I began angrily stomping the back of his head until it all just caved in.

The firefight must have gotten the attention of some more customers, because soon enough, two more of the brownies burst into the room, projectiles ready. I hit the deck and low-crawled to the AR. I took a split second to scan its workings, pulled the slide back to cock it and then let a burst of 7.62 fly into one of their chests. _Damn, this thing kicks hard,_ I thought as I stood to continue firing. It punched the crook of my shoulder like a high school bully, but ten rounds later I'd dropped both of the spiny monsters. Now it was time for a better inspection of my new toy. First, I pulled the clip to examine the rounds and confirmed that they were 7.62x45, which was the largest caliber I'd ever seen for an assault rifle in person. The thing had two sights mounted on it, one on top and another just to the right of it placed at an angle. The top sight was magnified for long range accuracy and the second was a reflex sight designed for precision at closer ranges. It also had an under slung attachment which looked like a masterkey, which was an older door-breaching shotgun. The more I looked at this rifle, the more I liked it, and the more I hoped I could find more ammunition for it. I was about to go back to the gun's former owner and loot him for more ammo, but heard a dripping sound behind me. The next thing I knew there was a hiss and I felt claws rake across my back. I fell forward and rolled to see my assailant. I'd assumed that I'd put enough rounds into both of those brownies to put them both down for good, but there it was looming over me, bullet holes bleeding. It lunged for me but I rolled backward and as soon as I righted myself, I planted another burst into its forehead. It wouldn't be getting up this time.

The wound on my back bled profusely, enough to make me get into gear and head for a first-aid cabinet. Luckily, I found one in between some of the standing equipment in the large room where the firefight had taken place. I opened it up and some of the medical supplies spilled onto the floor, but what I needed lay right in front of my eyes on one of the shelves. It was a box of auto-adhesive absorption cloth. Quickly, I tore into the box and unrolled the fabric. Using one of the pairs of shears in the cabinet, I cut a suitable piece and laid it on the floor, then took off the shirt, got down on my butt and lay back carefully to apply the patch. It stuck to my shoulder quickly and covered the gashes. I'd have to apply some sort of antibiotic soon, but the cloth held fast and almost completely stopped the bleeding. _Ah, the wonders of modern first-aid,_ said the little voice in the back of my head as I stood up and scanned the room again. I made my way back over to the zombified marine and indeed, there were three more clips for the AR and a sidearm that begged me to take it with me. The handgun was quite burly and held some .45 rounds in its clip. I was able to find more ammo for it in another one of the pouches of the zombie's uniform. Then, I cautiously proceeded to the next area, bigger guns slung and pistol at the ready as there was no use going through the larger ammo unless I was assaulted by another group of those spinys.

The layout of Central Processing was pretty straightforward. There was access to the Hangar in the south, where supplies and personnel arrived and departed, and to the northeast side was the route to Command Control, which was the nerve center of the entire installation. To the direct east was the Toxin Refinery, where all of the garbage and waste was reprocessed into clean energy. To the west was the primary Security Outpost, which was tempting as there was most likely an armory in there. Finally, there was the geographic anomaly where the Phobos Gate resided to the northwest. They called it an anomaly because the area around the gate was, by some measure, a gravity well. It felt almost like Earth gravity and there seemed to be an atmospheric bubble surrounding it, complete with breathable air. I'd never been in any of the western sectors, but I wasn't in much hurry. The security outpost was probably rife with zombie marines, and the anomaly... I'd heard stories about that place. The techs that worked out there were always coming to the labs and something seemed off about them.

Most of the rest of the way through this sector I'd run into little resistance. Whoever had come through here before me had not been in a great hurry and had dispatched nearly all of the reworked humans and demonic invaders, leaving me with hardly anything to clean up. I'd begun to wonder if I truly was the only one left living here. It gave me a chill thinking there was absolutely no one else - that feeling like you're the last man left in a world where elbow room had been a luxury not long ago. I'd entered the last few rooms and that damned wound on my shoulder was starting to itch like hell. It got to the point where I was intentionally brushing against corners like a bear with itchy back rubbing against a tree. Eventually, it drove me to reaching back and peeling the bandage back to see if I was having some sort of allergic reaction or developing an infection. What I found instead was a mostly parallel set of scratches that had mostly closed up. I ran a finger over the wounds and felt no blood or moisture, save for what had been partially absorbed into the covering. My eyes went wide with wonder, and again I questioned what the devil had been done to me while I was in that test tube. I pulled the bandage the rest of the way off and tossed it, thinking: _Unless I'm mortally wounded, I guess I don't have much to worry about._ I still wished I could have found some sort of document back in the lab detailing what they'd done to me and what they hoped to achieve. Feeling like a superhuman, I replaced my shirt and made my way to the exit to find it completely impassable. The door had been dented to the point that it would no longer slide open, and I cursed audibly. This was no way to treat a guy in a good mood. Resigning myself to finding another way around, I began walking back toward the sector's central hub. _This is going to be a long ass day._

Jim is still discovering new things about his newly modified body. You can bet that there is most definitely more to it, so stay tuned. I know I'm going possibly too far into detail about the guns, but I figure some of you might like to know exactly what he's picking up, and I don't want it to be so cut and dry that it will bore you. Anyway, I suppose the critique is best left to those not writing the story, as I tend to be pretty hard on myself. More coming soon!


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